It may be just me, but it’s extremely disorienting for a group of visitors to bust in and get in your face when you’re lying tethered to machines and unable to communicate in ICU/CCU.

So I was part of the group busting in today, and I was behaving how I’d want others to be around me. Just please, my elder family members: don’t move so fast when entering the room. And all that waving! Your presence is a grand flourish of activity in itself. I acknowledge it’s hard to hold back, and I must say I would rather that visitors express a bit too much life-affirming exuberance than morose doom and gloom (I know the difference it makes), but I guess I’m just saying to encroach gradually without the major shock? It’s wild how perceptions are altered when you’re in that bed. (I know a family member or two who would insist the shock is good. Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe it is.)

Still the comfort of touch… And here I come with cold hands! Aargh on me. And I see all the mouths moving, but forget that my uncle can actually hear them, unlike me. I wonder how much it all blends together for him–it appears like everyone’s talking at once. I’m silent, but focused on wellness and positive energy. Hopeful and hopefully infusing strength. My mom and aunt have the longest history and things to say, teasing to do, always. That’s their thing. I kind of get it. :) Sometimes it’s not so easy to take that from the moment when you’re the one in the bed. Whatcha gonna do? Be receptive. Sometimes it works, sometimes you remember how irritated you were, and sometimes you don’t remember anything except feeling love and caring. When family comes together.

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